The Keeper of Spells

We’re on the phone.

"It's too hard, it's killing me. I'm human too—I want to be touched, to talk about intimate things..."

"Just imagine I'm there," she said.

"Yeah... Easy to say. My head feels like it's splitting apart, a dull, throbbing ache behind my eyes. I've been crying all day."

Silence.

Of course, she had nothing to say—what could she possibly say at 19? That she didn’t expect it to affect me this much? That she blocks out her longing and everything she feels for me?

Otherwise, why would she say:

"Do you think I’m not human too? I suffer as well, but I stay quiet and swallow it."

"Great. So I have to guess what you feel for another two months and put the missing puzzle pieces together, right?"

I felt like throwing on my clothes, hopping on a bus, and storming into her house. But I held back—she needed to learn that I was always the one going to her while she could just sit back and do nothing. It was turning into a childish game. I felt like breaking up with her on the spot.

"You know this is all going downhill, right? I really don’t want to reach that point where I stop caring about anything related to you."

"We’ll talk more often," she said.

"About what, exactly? The same old stuff? The quality of our conversations matters too, you know. When was the last time we imagined what we’d do if we were truly free? I don’t know… I feel like you take me for granted. How can you say you want me so much but then do nothing and let fear consume you? What terrible thing has ever happened when we were brave? Nothing! On the contrary, it felt like we were encouraged to walk the tightrope, and somehow, we did it beautifully."

"You know my situation," she replied.

"Wow. And how does just 'knowing' it help us? We’re just sitting around, waiting for things to magically fix themselves. Is that what I’m worth to you? I’m done."

This was turning into science fiction. I didn’t understand how I had let myself get caught up in this childish drama. It didn’t even feel like my life anymore—just a bad joke.

"Wait… Wait!" she said suddenly, her voice low at first, then panicked.

"For what?"

"You know your stove, the one we undressed next to..."

"Yeah...?"

"Open the tiny door and put two logs in the fire."

"What kind of nonsense is this?"

"You’ll see. Come on, it’s not that warm in your house anyway. And… do you still have that tarot deck with the enchanted forest?" she asked, suddenly excited.

"I do, but I don’t get it. You’ve never liked this kind of stuff—you always had something to say against it. And why that deck, specifically?"

"Bring it to the stove and let a card fall after the logs catch fire. But before you shuffle, ask this: 'Is my lover truly incapable of meeting my expectations right now?' Then I’ll tell you the next two questions and what to do. Okay?"

"Fine, whatever… But why the forest one?"

"Because in the forest is where we met."

"Aha. And what does that have to do with anything?"

"If you’re patient, you’ll see."

"I’ve been patient for a year."

"What’s another two minutes then?"

"Ugh, fine… I’ll put the logs in and get the deck," I muttered, exasperated, and hung up on her.

Carrying the logs, I felt like a fool—a complete, lovesick idiot. I could almost hear an invisible audience laughing at the oversized, cartoonish donkey ears sprouting from my head, just like in those old animated movies where the fool never sees it coming. I wanted to just throw everything to the ground, but I had to admit—I was a little intrigued by the tarot experiment. I had never asked questions like this before, and the fact that she suddenly thought of it now made me wonder. The funny thing is, I only ask the tarot questions to which I can accept the answer. What's the point of the tarot if we only ask what is convenient for us, right? Someone else has to ask for us, I guess. Maybe she was desperate not to lose me. Otherwise… nothing.

I placed the logs on the stove, but my arms felt light, almost translucent. I couldn’t feel them. I started blowing on the fire to stoke it, but it was slow to catch. When the logs finally started to burn, the pile resembled more the campfire from a year ago, the one where I met her. A shadow caught my eye on the stove’s walls, but they didn’t look like walls anymore—more like a dense cluster of dark, translucent trees. Was that shadow me? Suddenly, I heard a whistling noise. And I immediately texted her:

"The fire’s going, but it’s crackling like crazy, and sparks are flying at me. Should we wait a bit?"

"Well, if you don’t trust that this will make us okay..."

"Is that why we’re doing this? What trust is there left? Do you really think tarot can fix what you should be doing?"

"No. Be patient—you’ll see what I do. Now check again. Are the sparks still flying?"

"No..."

"Good. Now ask the cards and see what comes up. No distracting thoughts allowed."

"Fine... Weaver of Visions."

"That means I’m capable. Okay, let’s see where you are now."

"Hmm… Seeker of Visions."

"Aha! You’re a level below. You still have learning to do, girl!"

"This is bullshit."

"Since when is tarot bullshit?"

"No, what you’re doing is bullshit."

"Why? Because it tells the truth? Look at you—reacting like a real Child of Visions!"

"Fine, fine. So the roles are reversed now. I’m the child, and you’re the adult. But that doesn’t let you off the hook. It just means you can do it—but you’re choosing not to."

"Eh, you got me there. That’s why the next question is: why am I not doing it?"

"Aha, now we’re getting somewhere. I like that you’re not running from the hard part."

"Maybe that’s why I’m your girlfriend, huh?"

"Maybe..."

"Ten of Visions. What the fuck?"

"What does that card mean?"

"Because of a happy future together."

"Pull another one for more clues."

"Two of Visions. Love, friendship…"

"I don’t get it. You isolate yourself from me, and it’s because you love me? That’s hilarious."

"Yes, they’re right."

"But I still don’t understand."

"I don’t know—you’re the one into tarot," she said sarcastically.

"Ha-ha!" I snapped. "And what was the deal with the logs?"

"Move closer to the pile."

"It’s too hot. I’m not stupid!"

"Just a little. It won’t kill you."

"My face is already burning..."

"Stay there for a second—you won’t die. What do you see when you look into the fire?"

"A big chunk of wood burning, with little splinters flickering?"

"Good. What does it remind you of?"

"Hm, I can’t see—it’s burning my eyes."

"That’s how I burn too. And you need to warm up a little as well. There’s no other way."

"Alis? A card just slipped from the deck—no, it didn’t just slip, it leaped, like a spark breaking free from the fire. The Keeper of Spells."

"Perfect!"

I could barely see her in front of me, standing in a forest, torches burning all around her. In fact, looking more closely, she was standing in the heart of an enchanted forest, cloaked in deep, swirling fabrics that shimmer like embers caught in the wind. Like the Keeper of Spells, her presence is both fierce and ethereal, her long, flowing hair crackling with an unseen energy, as if woven with the very essence of firelight.

"See now why I isolate myself? Because I burn too fiercely and fire doesn’t ask permission to spread. I try to hold it in—but you’re the wind, aren’t you?"

"Wow, what a telenovela," I scoffed.

"You know why it was magical between us before? Because you did things like this with me. Now it’s my turn, I guess."

"Until I got tired," I said frustrated.

"And who encouraged you to get there? You know why I never believed in this tarot stuff? Because I was afraid of what it might trigger—what I might discover about myself. I like being in control. But deep down, I never truly thought it was nonsense."

"I wish I’d known that. Though, I did have a feeling—because when the cards said something good, you were totally fine with it," I laughed.

"Come closer, I can’t hear you," she said, winking charmingly.

Suddenly, she was in front of me—so vivid it made my breath hitch. But she was burning, her outline flickering like a mirage, heat radiating from her. I was afraid to touch her, but she took my hand, pressed her lips to my shoulder, and lingered there. Curiously, I felt no heat. Then she said:

"We have to start over. I realize now that something wasn’t right from the beginning."

"What do you mean? Why is the car here?"

"We’re getting in. Just like the night we met, when you chose to stay in the car with me. And this time, before we get in, you’re going to kiss me in front of everyone. I don’t care what they say—what’s the problem if I’m a lesbian? What’s the problem if you’re 30? There will be no more hiding. Just go wild, please."

I haven’t been fully aware until now of how much I’ve wanted this. A turning point. And now I have it. I smiled. But maybe sometimes I’ll prefer to hide for the sake of it.

"Do you think, this time, you won’t 'burn too fiercely’?"

"At least this time, you’ll feel it on your skin," she nodded, her gaze soft yet undeniably fiery, like embers that draw you in without mercy.

We got into the car. Now, it finally feels warm, remembering the cold I endured and how sick I got after that night in the car—just because I was afraid…